


A Home for the Holidays

by rainydog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Paternal Lestrade, Pneumonia, dimmock is awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:24:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydog/pseuds/rainydog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story of how Sherlock and Lestrade meet!! It’s Christmas time and everything and everyone is filled with Christmas cheer, except for Greg Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes. Lestrade is dealing with his newly divorced life by throwing himself into his work, until he meets a street kid, Sherlock Holmes, who had no home and no family, that he speaks of anyway. Lestrade takes pity on him and gets him out of a bit of trouble, so it’s only logical that when Sherlock gets pneumonia from being on the streets, that he calls Lestrade. Lestrade takes him into his home and gives him a home and a family for Christmas</p><p>Update: the reason this hasn't been updated in so long is because I am rewriting some of it (changing the verb tense and such) but I hope to have it up soon!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Chance Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any confusion when I posted this chapter as chapter 4 instead of 5.

Lestrade stares absentmindedly at the wall, he can’t remember a time when he felt so alone, he and Zoe’s divorce had just been finalized and she was staying with her sister. He recalls the times when their marriage was fresh, when she’d be there waiting by the door for him to come home, but she’d gotten tired of the late nights, Lestrade being so tired from work that he slept for hours and hours at a time. He’d tried so hard to make things work out between the two of them, but it was already too late for that, Zoe had had enough. They’d been separated for less than a month when the two of them had gotten together to try to work things out, but neither of them could come to a compromise they could both agree on, so after being separated again for a few more months, they’d decided to get a divorce. Neither of them were particularly happy with this, but they weren’t happy when they were together either. He wishes someone would come to him with an intriguing case; he was so bored and didn’t want to keep thinking about how small his flat would feel without Zoe. He's been taking extra shifts and working later than he usually did, just to keep himself busy, just to keep that sinking, lonely feeling away for as long as he could.  
“Lestrade, we got a kid that just got arrested for starting a fight, well not exactly a kid, he’s twenty, but we need to make sure that the story’s straight. There weren’t any witnesses to the actual fight, so can you come interrogate him?” Dimmock asks, knowing that Lestrade needs something to keep his mind off Zoe, it had been a slow night and the kid probably didn’t even need interrogation, but Lestrade needs to focus his attention on something else.  
“Sure, I’ll be right there.” He answers, secretly relieved. Thank god for that kid, he thinks to himself as he steps into the stairwell. Dimmock directs Lestrade to the interrogation room where the kid’s being held and hands Lestrade the case file. Lestrade flips through the file looking oddly at the man’s name. “Sherlock, what kind of name is Sherlock?” He asks, amused by the man’s irregular name. Dimmock smiles and shrugs, he informs Lestrade on what he already knows about the mishap.  
Lestrade opens the door to the small, dark room with one metal table and two metal chairs on either side of it. The kid, Sherlock Holmes, is seated looking quite bored, his chin resting on his propped up hand. He's sporting a purple, slightly swollen bruise on the side of his left eye, another bruise near the bottom of his jaw. His right hand, which was laying palm-down on the table is cut from fighting with the other man, there were smaller, less severe looking bruises on his arms as well. Lestrade slid into the metal chair and began to interrogate Sherlock.  
“So, I take it you are Sherlock Holmes.” He says, Sherlock makes eye contact with Lestrade, while having no facial expression.  
“Well, you are the one with the file that has my name and picture, so it would be strange if I wasn’t.” He replies, Lestrade ignores this and carries on.  
“That’s quite a nasty bruise on your eye, how did the fight start?” He asks.  
“The other guy stole my food, I tried to get it back, and we fought.” He answers casually, no sign of emotion from his voice or from his body. “Though, I’ve already told this to the man who took me in, so I suspect you already knew the answer.” Sherlock finishes.  
“Just wanted to hear it for myself. So, why did this guy steal your food?” Lestrade questions, Sherlock lets out a slightly annoyed sigh at such a general and predictable questions but figures if he wants to leave as quickly as he can, he might as well answer them.  
“He wanted it.” Sherlock responds, a typical answer to a typical question, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.  
“What is your address?” Lestrade asks, noticing there was no listed address in the file.  
“I don’t have one.” Sherlock affirms, so he was a street kid, which also explains the old and worn out clothing.  
“Is that why you fought over food?” Lestrade asks, already knowing the answer, but asking the question anyway.  
“As you can tell, inspector, I don’t eat much.” Sherlock says, using his hand to gesture to the less than average skinniness of himself. “I don’t have a job either, so I can’t buy food.” He explains.  
“Is the man who stole your food homeless as well?” Lestrade asks. Sherlock shakes head.  
“No, he has a small flat, but he might as well be homeless, he probably will be soon. The only reason he can barely afford to pay rent is because he inherited money.” He answers.  
“Would you say that he was the one who started the fight?” Lestrade questions him.  
“Yes, he stole the food, I tried to get it back, then he punched me in the face and I tried to defend myself and get back the food.” He responds, throughout their entire conversation, Sherlock had barely moved and kept the eye contact consistent.  
"Do you have any family that we can contact?" Lestrade asks, having seen nothing listed in the chart. Sherlock shook his head and took a quick sweeping glance over Lestrade.  
"Neither do you." He remarks, Lestrade looked at him quizzically, unsure of what the man was trying to say. Sherlock rubbed his hands together, a moment to show off his deductive skills was too good to pass up.  
"You're very recently been divorced," he says, Lestrade stares at him, dumbfounded, "I can tell by your ring finger, there's no ring, but a slight tan area on your finger where a wedding ring once sat." He explains, making a small gesture to Lestrade’s hand. Lestrade was still speechless, he'd never seen or heard anything like this before, but he decided to conclude the interrogation.  
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes that’ll be all. You’re free to go.” Lestrade says as he stands up and opens the door for Sherlock, who says nothing as he exits the room. Lestrade hadn’t noticed how tall the man really was until he watches him walk through the hallway, towards the entrance to Scotland Yard. As Lestrade watches Sherlock’s tall, skinny body turn the corner, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt, for sending the kid back onto the streets, he moves quickly down the hall and stops Sherlock before he could leave.  
“Sherlock Holmes, wait a minute, it’s going to be cold out there tonight, so I want you to take my jacket.” He says, holding out his jacket to Sherlock, who looks at it, but doesn’t take it.  
“I couldn’t take your jacket, inspector.” He says.  
“Please, I insist. It’s too large for me anyway.” He says, still holding the jacket out to Sherlock, who removes the jacket from his hand and slips it on over his lanky body, it fits Sherlock much better than it had ever fit Lestrade.  
“Thank you, inspector.” He says as he buttons up the jacket.  
“I know it can be tough on the streets, so” Lestrade says, taking out a business card, “this is my card, if you ever get in any trouble, call.” He says, Lestrade swears he saw a small smile out of the corner of Sherlock’s mouth as he takes the card and thanks Lestrade again.  
When Lestrade returns to his flat, he didn’t feel quite so empty, helping Sherlock made him feel much better and it wouldn’t be as hard to fall asleep knowing he’d made a difference in the young man’s life


	2. A Friend in Need

Lestrade strolls down the streets of London in the bitter December chill, there was a light dusting of snow that litters the ground. The bit of snow crunching under Lestrade’s shoes as he walks back to his flat from the store, he had gone to get masking tape and bubble wrap, which he would use to coat and seal the cardboard boxes he had in his flat. Each one filled with small things he and his wife decided she would get, each one a memory of how wonderful their relationship was when they were younger. He has one hand in his pocket and the other holding the plastic bag of tape and wrap, occasionally switching hands, in order to keep his hands from getting too numb. The shops he passes are brightly light by Christmas lights and when people left from their last minute Christmas shopping debacle, Lestrade hears Christmas music playing in the background.The lights and all the happy people that suffocate London this time of year makes Lestrade think of how depressing his life was at the moment, no one to spend Christmas with and he wasn't feeling the normal cheer people usually do. The lights, however; were good for one thing, they help to light the sidewalk, which was good considering that it was fairly early and the sun had already set.  
Lestrade works his way into the building, where he is relieved to find that it was much warmer inside. The lift wasn't working, but it wasn't too much of an inconvenience, so Lestrade made his way into his flat and begins to gather up the items he was going to be giving to his wife.  
It had been a few weeks since Lestrade had met Sherlock Holmes, he now sat on the floor of his flat surrounded by a bunch of cardboard boxes. He filled one of them with picture frames that had been given to his wife from her parents, picture frames that encased photos of Zoe’s parents as a young, happy couple, the type of life he and Zoe could only dream of. The only picture of Lestrade and Zoe were taken when their relationship was flourishing, when they still thought the only thing they’d ever need in life was each other, but things changed. He sealed it closed with the masking tape he bought from the store, thinking that if he ever sees those frames again, it won't be for a very long time. He remembers that just a few years ago, he hadn't been packaging up his wife's belongings, but was instead horribly wrapping up Christmas gifts for her, teasing her about what was inside. Christmas didn't feel as cheerful this year, he was all alone, he took a glance at the small tree in the corner of his flat, it was cheap and half-heartedly decorated, only a few small ornaments clung to the slim branches. Lestrade walks over the coffee table and picks up his ringing phone, he doesn’t recognize the number, but answers it anyway.  
“This is Greg Lestrade, who am I speaking to?" He asks, on the other end of the line, he hears the caller take a deep breath.  
“Sh-Sherlock.” The voice answers, sounding raspy and out of breath. Lestrade’s brow furrows as he notes the strangeness of Sherlock’s voice.  
“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice teetering between confused and concerned.  
“Need help.” He replies, followed by a bout of coughing.  
“Where are you?” Lestrade asks.  
“Street.” Sherlock wheezes.  
“I mean the address.” Lestrade elaborates, he wonders if Sherlock could even tell where he was.  
“Pay phone at 23 Northumberland street." He chokes out, taking in deep breaths.  
“Okay, Sherlock. I’ll be there as soon as I can, stay on the phone.” He instructs as he heads towards the door.  
“I-I don’t know how long I have left.” He slurs, coughing again. Right, he’s on a pay phone, Lestrade wasn’t sure how much longer Sherlock would have.  
“That’s okay, don’t speak unless you need to, just take some deep breaths.” He says, he runs out into the street and quickly hails down a cab, Lestrade can’t understand how Sherlock could stand to be in the bitterly cold weather, especially with the layer of snow. “I’m going to be there very soon.” Lestrade reassures Sherlock.  
“Where to?” The cab driver asks.  
“23 Northumberland street.” Lestrade tells him. “Please hurry, I have my friend might be in trouble.” He says, nervously. The cab driver nods and maneuvers his way quickly into the street. Lestrade is startled and moves the phone away from his ear when Sherlock suddenly is overtaken by a loud coughing fit, each uneven breath taken after sounding labored.  
“Sherlock, are you okay?” He asks, concerned, but trying to keep his voice down, to give himself from privacy from the cab driver. Sherlock took a deep breath as if he was going to say something, but the pay phone times out before he can answer. Lestrade takes a few deep breaths and presses his hands together under his chin. It was a few minutes later that the cab driver pulls over to the curb and Lestrade rushes out to get Sherlock.  
When he gets out of the cab, the sun had set along time ago and he witnesses a silhouetted version of Sherlock in the faint light of a street lamp. Sherlock is leaning against the pay phone, which he had hung up after he realized that he had run out of time. He has his head down and is rubbing it with his right hand, he can see Sherlock swaying a bit and looking as if he would collapse. He was gasping for breath and and shivering madly, and he was wearing the coat Lestrade had given him a few weeks earlier. Lestrade wraps his arm around Sherlock and begins to lead him to the cab, Sherlock’s head lolls around as he struggles to keep it up and he shuffles slowly towards the cab. When Lestrade gets Sherlock into the car, the cab driver notices Sherlock’s condition and turns to Lestrade.  
“You want me to take you to the hospital?” He asks. Lestrade shakes his head.  
“No, take me back to where you picked me up.” Lestrade instructs as he buckles Sherlock into the seat next to him, taking Sherlock’s head and resting it on his shoulder. Lestrade notices Sherlock falling asleep, Lestrade shakes Sherlock’s shoulder gently. “Sherlock, I need you to stay awake until we get back to my flat, okay.” He coaxes.  
“Mmph.” Is Sherlock’s only response, as he rubs his chest, which was strained from coughing. The potholes along the road increased the intensity of Sherlock’s throbbing headache making him groan in pain.  
“It’s going to be alright Sherlock, just a few more minutes.” He whispers to Sherlock while rubbing his side, hoping to help alleviate the pain in Sherlock's ribcage. When they arrive at Lestrade’s flat, the cab driver glances back at the two of them.  
“You’re sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?" He asks.   
“I’m sure,” Lestrade says as he reaches into his pocket to pay the driver, “here’s the-”  
“Free of charge.” The cab driver interjects. “Take care of your friend.” He says to Lestrade as he pulls Sherlock out.  
“Thanks, I will.” He says to the cab driver, who tips his hat to Lestrade before driving away. Lestrade turns his attention to Sherlock, who was beginning to cough loudly again, Lestrade takes Sherlock’s arm and moves it to his shoulder in order to distribute the weight between the two of them. Sherlock's feet scuff along the pavement outside of the flat, he occasionally stumbles over his feet, not being able to see where he was going. As they enter the building and turn the corner to the elevator, Lestrade sighs as he sees the ‘out of order’ sign on the metal door of the elevator. Sherlock’s fatigue is increasing and despite the frigid weather from being outside, Sherlock is sweating profusely, but at the same time, was shivering badly enough that Lestrade could hear Sherlock’s teeth chattering, he isn’t sure if he should remove the jacket from Sherlock’s shoulders. As Sherlock places his foot on the first step, his knees buckle and his head would have collided with one of the steps, but Lestrade catches him before he does. Lestrade decides the quickest way to get Sherlock up the stairs would be to carry him, so he helps up Sherlock from his crouched position on the ground and moves his arm behind Sherlock’s knees lifting him up. Sherlock’s head falls forward against Lestrade’s chest and he groaned slightly, Lestrade hates causing pain in Sherlock, but it wouldn’t take long to get Sherlock into his flat


	3. Emergency

When they arrive.at the flat, Lestrade lay Sherlock in a chair and let out a small sigh of relief as he finally got to rest. Lestrade clears the cardboard boxes out of the middle of floor in order to turn the couch into a futon for Sherlock to sleep on. He folds out the bed, which makes a horrible squeaking sound and Sherlock’s eyes squeeze tightly, Lestrade is hoping that the pain he was causing Sherlock isn’t lingering. He goes over to Sherlock and moves him to the futon, he sits him up against the back cushions and removes the sweat-soaked jacket from Sherlock’s shoulders and places it on the back of a chair. Lestrade goes into the bathroom to get a thermometer and a warm blanket, Lestrade first wraps sherlock up in the blanket, then gently takes a seat next to him.  
“Open your mouth, I need to take your temperature.” He says, his voice soft and comforting, which is most likely what prompts Sherlock to comply. Lestrade holds the thermometer in Sherlock’s mouth, Sherlock’s arms are too weak and tired to keep it up. After the three beeps from the thermometer goes off, Lestrade slides it out of Sherlock’s mouth, he sighs a bit as he reads the number.  
“It’s 390 (1020F), I’m going to give you some ibuprofen to help with the fever and I’ll check on you in the morning. I’ll get you a bell, so you can ring if you need anything.” Lestrade walks over to the small Christmas tree he has in the corner of his living room and removes the bell ornament and lay it down on the corner table next to the futon, along with the thermometer. Lestrade bends down next to Sherlock.  
“I’m going to ask you a few questions before I let you rest. ” Lestrade says as he takes Sherlock’s hand in his own. “If I ask you a question and the answer is ‘yes,’ squeeze once and squeeze twice if ‘no,’ do you understand?” He asks, Lestrade thinks it could help save the kid’s voice and breath, Sherlock responds with one squeeze.  
“Has this ever happened to you before?” Two squeezes.  
"Is there a lot of pain in your chest and ribcage?" One squeeze, Lestrade looks on Sherlock with pity, feeling very badly for the sick young man.  
“Do you have stomach pains?” Two squeezes, which Lestrade is glad to hear, but he can feel Sherlock’s grip loosening with each question.  
“Do you want to rest now?” One faint, light squeeze, Lestrade gently places Sherlock’s hand down on the futon, he could feel the amount of sweat on his wrists and uses the edge of the blanket to wipe the sweat from his wrists and forehead. His curly, disheveled, black hair was drenched in sweat and Lestrade uses the blanket to dry off his hair. He goes back to the closet and gets a bottle of ibuprofen, which Sherlock swallows with a bit of help from Lestrade.  
Lestrade changes in his room and once he was finished, opens his door to keep an eye on Sherlock. He lay down on his bed and glances over sadly at the man sleeping on the futon, he is tired from the events of the day and had no trouble falling asleep. After only a few hours of sleep, Lestrade is awakened by a sharp ringing coming from the bell he left for Sherlock, the noise startles him and he moves quickly from his bed and into the living room.  
“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” He asks, concerned and nervously. Sherlock was gasping for breath.  
“Ca-can’t br-breath.” He chokes out, Lestrade grabs Sherlock by the waist, which causes Sherlock to let out a hiss of pain, and places him against the back of the couch and tilts Sherlock’s head back to help open the airway. Sherlock began to take deep breaths, but he looks panicked and his pulse is racing.  
“Sherlock, I'm calling an ambulance." Lestrade informs him, Sherlock opens his mouth to protest, but he begins coughing again. Lestrade rushes over to the phone that was resting on the kitchen counter and dials 999, he knew Sherlock didn't want to go, but he needs this.  
“This is the police what is your emergency?” The female operator asks, reciting from a script.  
“I am at 524 Main street at the thirty-first apartment, on the second floor. I have a friend by the name of Sherlock Holmes with a very high fever and has a lot of trouble breathing, please send an ambulance.” He says, his voice anxious and fast.  
“Okay, sir there’ll be an ambulance there in ten to fifteen minutes.” She replies.  
“Okay, thank you.” He responds before hanging up the receiver. Lestrade turns his attention back to Sherlock. “There’s going to be an ambulance here soon, just hang on for a bit, okay?” Lestrade tells him, Sherlock’s hand has moved to his temples and he was massaging them, he was dizzy from sitting up, which is aggravating his headache. Lestrade puts his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and slowly guides him back down flat onto his back, as soon as he was laid back down to his original position, Sherlock began coughing violently again and Lestrade rubs Sherlock’s chest in circular motions.  
“Hurts…” Sherlocked groans, his voice raspy and sore.  
“I know, Sherlock, but it’s going to be okay soon. Do you need anything?” He asks resting the back of his hand on the side of Sherlock’s face, Sherlock jerks his head to the side slightly when he felt the coldness of Lestrade’s hand came in contact with the fevered heat in Sherlock’s red face. His eyes are glossy and his body shivers, but he takes a deep breath to answer Lestrade.  
“Water, throat dry.” He murmurs. Lestrade moves to the kitchen quickly and fills a glass of water, when he returns to Sherlock he places the glass of water on the table and sits on the futon, next to Sherlock.  
“I need to put you back up against the cushion.” Lestrade tells Sherlock, he braces himself by taking a few calming breaths and closing his eyes, Lestrade gently places his hands under Sherlock’s arms and lifts him up against the back of the couch. Lestrade can't imagine how awful or must have felt to be constantly being moved up and down. He takes the glass of water and holds it to Sherlock’s lips. “Take very small sips.” He says as he slightly tips the glass so that Sherlock could drink. Sherlock put his hand up as a signal to tell Lestrade he would no longer going to be drinking. After placing the glass on the table, Lestrade’s attention is turned to the window, he could hear and see the sirens and lights of the ambulances and police vehicles. He expects for Sherlock to be bothered by the lights and sounds, but he looks far too tired and felt too dizzy to have a reaction. Lestrade goes over to the door of his flat and opens it, so the paramedics would have an easier time maneuvering the gurney in. The paramedics moved quickly up the stairs and into the flat. He was about to follow the paramedics and Sherlock down the stairs to the ambulance waiting for him, but is stopped by one of the police officers, Gregson.  
“Lestrade, what happened? Who is that kid?" He asks.  
“A friend who's sick." He says, "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to accompany him to the hospital." Lestrade says and Gregson steps aside to let Lestrade through, he rushes down the stairs, determined to ride with Sherlock. When he gets outside, he sees Sherlock strapped onto the gurney and being put in the ambulance, Lestrade moves quickly over to Dimmock and tells him that he wishes to accompany Sherlock Holmes to the hospital. Since Lestrade was a member of the force and Dimmock remembers how well Lestrade treated Sherlock when they first met, he allows for Lestrade to ride with Sherlock


	4. Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the first time i posted this chapter, I accidentally copied in chapter 5 instead if four, so it is being fixed.

Lestrade sits next to Sherlock during during the duration of the ambulance ride. He holds onto Sherlock’s hand as an oxygen cannula is inserted and as the paramedics place an IV line into his wrist and covers it with a strong tape to keep it from coming loose. When they arrive at the hospital, Sherlock is being taken being to the ER.  
"You can follow us, inspector. We'll be taking him right to a room." One of the nurses informs him, Lestrade moves quickly behind the doctors, who are taking Sherlock through the hallway, he'd been transferred from the ambulance gurney to a hospital bed and one of the nurses was holding the IV bag as they take him to his room. When they arrive at the room, the doctor and the nurse lift Sherlock slightly in order to get him onto the large bed. The IV bag is hooked onto a metal stand and a new oxygen cannula is given to Sherlock, Lestrade takes a seat in the chair next to Sherlock, watching him as he slept. Lestrade notices how tired he was getting and glanced down at his analog watch, he has to bring it close to his face to read, because of the darkness and he didn’t want to turn the light on and risk waking up Sherlock. One O’clock in the morning, no wonder he was so tired, he hadn’t gone to sleep until eleven O’clock, he spent most of the night tending to Sherlock, but if he hadn’t taken Sherlock to his flat, he probably would have spent most of night looking at the ceiling, thinking of how much had changed since his divorce. Lestrade couldn’t fall asleep, the chair is too small for him to relax in and the sound of Sherlock’s heart monitor is distracting him, he felt that he needs to stay awake to make sure nothing would happen to Sherlock while either of them slept. Lestrade’s pulse was settling back to normal, it had spiked when he feared for Sherlock, but now that Sherlock was much safer, he felt a great deal of relief. He holds his head up with his propped up hand and let out a small sigh as he watches Sherlock’s chest rise and fall with each breath, it had been about two hours later when Lestrade’s body and mind were tired enough to rest, his mind blocks out the sounds of the hospital and his body finally relaxes enough to allow for him to finally sleep.   
Lestrade was awakened as a ray of sunlight comes across his eyes from the open window, he rubs his eyes and slightly moves his chair out of the sun to give his eyes time to gradually adjust to the brightness of the morning sun. The light had already passed over Sherlock’s face, however; he was too exhausted to have noticed and remained sleeping in a deep sleep. Lestrade looks at his watch, it was seven O’clock, he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, but it refreshed his mind and body, he decides that it wouldn't take long to get a cup of coffee and to come back to Sherlock before he woke up.  
The hospital cafeteria wasn't too crowded, it was mostly filled with doctors and nurses, probably because of how early it was. Lestrade purchases a medium cup of coffee with neither cream nor sugar, it tastes fairly good, which was a bit of a surprise to him, but it was time to get back to Sherlock. When Lestrade returns to Sherlock’s hospital room, a doctor stands outside of the door, waiting for Lestrade.   
"Hello, you must be Greg Lestrade." He says, extending his hand to Lestrade. "I'm Doctor Samuel Fitz," he said, a very slight, but noticeable German accent. Lestrade shakes his hand. "I hear Sherlock Holmes was brought here when you stated he had a high fever and trouble breathing, is that correct?" He asks, glancing down at the chart he holds in his hands.  
"Yes, doctor. Do you have any idea what it might be? I just expected him to have gotten a fever while on the streets, but it looks a bit worse than I thought." He says, Dr. Fitz showed little reaction to the fact that Sherlock was homeless, no doubt he was already informed of that information.  
"I have just listened to Mr. Holmes' lungs, and I want to run a chest X-ray. I believe he might have pneumonia." Dr. Fitz tells Lestrade, he was a bit shocked to hear this, but it was a very possible conclusion.  
"How long should it take?" Lestrade asks.  
“Not too long, I’m going to get a wheelchair for him and tell the nurse to get ready, he’s awake now, so it’s a good time to see him.” He says.  
“Thank you, doctor.” Lestrade replies, he takes a seat on the chair next to Sherlock, and took his hand. His wrist didn’t feel as hot or clammy as it had the night before. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, Sherlock. How are you feeling?” Lestrade asks, Sherlock was only half-awake, but is aware enough to understand and reply to Lestrade.  
“It’s okay, I’m feeling better, but my chest still hurts.” He answers, his voice still sounding a bit raspy and he starts coughing again. Lestrade gets a paper cup from the dispense and fills it in the sink.  
“Drink it in small sips.” Lestrade tells him, holding the cup out for Sherlock, who takes it in his right hand and slowly drinks from it, he places it down on the tray in front of him, next to the small cup of red jello. “Do you want to eat the jello?” Lestrade asks, but Sherlock shook his head.  
“You can have it, detective, I’m not hungry.” He says, his voice sounding tired and he was about to fall asleep, but Lestrade slightly shakes his shoulder.  
“Stay awake until after the chest X-ray,” he says, looking out the door to see a nurse with a wheelchair walking down the hall to their room, “the nurse is here with a wheelchair to take you, I’ll be here when you get back.” He promises Sherlock, the nurse wore regular scrubs and has her hair up in a ponytail.  
“Mr. Holmes, are you ready for your X-ray?” She asks, moving the wheelchair to the side of Sherlock’s bed, he nods tiredly. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon, then you can rest all you want.” She says kindly as she and Lestrade help move Sherlock to the wheelchair, before leaving she turns to Lestrade. “We’ll be back soon, but you could probably go to the cafeteria to get something to eat if you’d like.” She says, Lestrade just nodd, with no intention of leaving the room. Even though he hadn’t eaten in a while and was getting hungry, he didn’t want Sherlock to have to come back to an empty room, he didn’t want to eat Sherlock’s jello either, Sherlock might be hungry when he got back. Lestrade pulls out his phone to call his boss to tell him he wouldn’t be coming in today. His boss tells him not to worry and to come in when he was ready, which meant when the kid could be at Lestrade’s apartment and actually be able to do stuff without help.  
Sherlock comes back a few minutes later, followed by the nurse and Dr. Fitz, the wheelchair is placed in the middle of the room by the nurse who still stands behind it, with her hands on the bars.  
“My suspicions were correct, Sherlock Holmes has pneumonia,” Dr. Fitz states, Lestrade rose from his chair and walked over to Dr. Fitz. “but we don’t know what type it is, so we will be running a blood test. The course of treatment we decide on will be based on what type he has, so any choice of medications will be dependent on what he has and its severity. Any questions?” He asks, Lestrade shakes his head and the nurse and Dr. Fitz leave the room with Sherlock in his wheelchair. Having not eaten for more than twelve hours, Lestrade makes a very quick trip to the cafeteria and picks up a plain croissant before returning to the room. He is glad that Sherlock wasn’t back yet, but hopes everything was going okay. He is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears his phone buzz, he’d gotten a text from Dimmock.  
How’s the kid?  
Got pneumonia.  
Jesus, how’s he feeling?  
Better than last night, he’s getting a blood test to see what type of pneumonia he has.  
Okay, if you need me to pick anything up for either of you, I can swing by a store when I finish my shift.  
Okay, thanks. I’ll text you if we need anything.  
Tell the kid I hope he gets better soon.  
I will thanks, see you later.  
Bye.  
Lestrade is pleased that his friend was showing a bit of concern for Sherlock when most people wouldn’t look twice at a poor street kid. While he was waiting for Sherlock to return, Lestrade fixes Sherlock’s bed, the blanket was balled up from Sherlock moving around when they first brought him in, he’d been restless for about an hour before his body finally calmed down and he’d fallen into a deep, undisturbed sleep. It wasn’t long before Sherlock is wheeled back in by the nurse and placed back into his bed, Dr. Fitz comes in a few paces behind them and he and Lestrade step into the hall to discuss Sherlock’s prognosis.  
“Mr. Holmes has bacterial pneumonia, which he most likely contracted from living on the streets, as a precaution I would recommend that Mr. Holmes stay in your care until he has recovered completely.” He tells Lestrade, who agrees that it would be the best course of actions. “Then, when he feels fit, I think that Sherlock Holmes should stay with his brother, Mycroft, until he can find a permanent place to stay, in order to prevent a relapse.” Dr. Fitz says, Lestrade was noticeably shocked to learn that Sherlock had a brother.  
“Did you say that Sherlock has a brother?” He asks completely confused and blind-sided by this fact. Dr. Fitz looks a bit surprised that Lestrade didn’t know about the brother, but then again, they’d only met briefly and Sherlock probably hadn’t done much talking. What surprised Dr. Fitz more was that Sherlock was not already off the streets and staying with Mycroft Holmes.  
“Yes, Mycroft lives not too far away, he works for the British government.” Dr. Fitz informs him.  
“Oh, okay. Uh, do you know that kind of treatment there is for Sherlock?” Lestrade asks.  
“Yes, I have a prescription for antibiotics,” he says handing Lestrade a piece of signed paper “which you can pick up when Sherlock is discharged.” He says.  
“You think he’ll be ready to go home today? What do you think happened to him last night?” He asks, not totally certain that Sherlock was ready to leave the care of the hospital.  
“Yes, what I believe happened last night was a result of the fever, exhaustion, and malnutrition. Sherlock most likely had trouble breathing because he rolled onto his stomach with his head down, this happens quite a bit, actually. Sherlock has been given some medication to reduce his fever, which he’s been responding to well, so Sherlock should be well enough in a few hours to go home.” Dr. Fitz says, Lestrade is relieved to hear that Sherlock was doing and feeling better.  
“What can I do for Sherlock when I take him back to my flat?” Lestrade asks.  
“Sherlock needs lots of rest and he should be getting some food to help his body recover, but start off with small things you’d normally give a sick person. He’ll also need to stay hydrated, so liquids with a good amount of electrolytes. The antibiotics should start to make him feel better in two to three days, but he’ll still need time to recover, especially with his current condition and living arrangements.” He advises Lestrade, who is making a mental list of things that Sherlock would need, he could ask Dimmock to bring them around later.  
“Okay, thanks.” Lestrade replies.  
“Sherlock should get some rest for a few more hours, but then you should be able to take him home. Bring Sherlock back if he starts to feel worse after taking the antibiotics or feels nauseous or becomes incoherent or starts coughing blood.” Dr. Fitz tells him.  
“Alright, I’ll tell him what you said.” Lestrade replied, he walks back into the room to see the nurse has left and Sherlock had already fallen asleep again, he takes a seat next to Sherlock and hold his hand in his own


	5. Home Again

After a few more hours of rest, Sherlock's eyes slowly open and he began to glance around the room, he smiles when he sees Lestrade at the side of his bed.  
"Good news, Sherlock, I can take you home now." Lestrade says, smiling at the half-awake man, who smiles back at him.  
"Sounds good." He replies, his voice sounding much less raspy and sore. Lestrade goes to sign the discharge papers and return to Sherlock.  
"Ready to go?" Lestrade asks, Sherlock nods and Lestrade helps him into the wheelchair. When they get to the ground floor, Lestrade goes to the pharmacy to get the antibiotics for Sherlock. He wheels Sherlock out into the sidewalk in front of the hospital and hails a taxi, he helps Sherlock move from the wheelchair to the taxi, then places the wheelchair in the place where patients put them back when they've finished.  
The ride back to Lestrade’s flat is uneventful, they both sit in silence and Lestrade keeps Sherlock awake until they can get back to the flat. Sherlock is resting his head on what would have been Lestrade’s shoulder, but Sherlock, being taller is just slumped awkwardly against Lestrade’s body. When they arrive back at Lestrade’s flat, he pays the driver and has a much easier time getting Sherlock up the stairs than when he had first brought him into his flat. He maneuvers Sherlock to the futon and lay him down and covers him with a blanket, it was early in the afternoon and Lestrade wasn't entirely sure what to do, but he decides to try to get some work done, for he didn't really know how long he'd be gone for. He takes a seat in the chair adjacent to the futon in order to keep an eye on Sherlock, he takes out a case file, but takes his phone out to ask Dimmock to pick some stuff up for Sherlock.  
Hey, Dimmock can you pick up some crackers and Gatorade for Sherlock?  
Sure, my shift is almost over, so I'll get those for you soon.  
Thanks.  
No problem.  
Lestrade smiles as he places his phone down, he felt so lucky to have friends like Dimmock looking out for him. Lestrade placed the case file down on the table next to the futon and leaned back in the chair, he decided he was too tired to review the case and he fell asleep, slumped awkwardly in the chair. He wakes up when he hears the doorbell ring, he jumps up and stumbles tiredly towards the door, the door lets out a small creak as he opens it. Dimmock stands on the other side, a large smile on his face and two large, overfilled plastic bags.  
“Oh, sorry did I wake you?” Dimmock asks, noticing Lestrade’s messy hair and clothes and the slight bags under his eyes.  
“No, I was just resting, I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep in the past few days.” Lestrade replies. He glances down at the overflowing bags in Dimmock’s hands. “Did you get all this for Sherlock?” He asks, Lestrade had only asked for two things, but Dimmock still had that stupid grin on his face.  
“I didn’t know what type of crackers or Gatorade he liked, so I bought a couple of different brands.” He says.  
“You didn’t need to get all of this.” Lestrade says, laughing slightly and smiling at Dimmock, who smiles back at him.  
“I wanted to, anything to help out a friend on Lestrade’s.” He replies, Lestrade gestures for Dimmock to come in and he placed the bags on the kitchen counter.  
“Do you want a drink?” Lestrade asks.  
“Wish I could, but I got a date with Nora in thirty minutes and it’s on the other side of town.” He says, Lestrade is a bit surprised to find that Dimmock was putting Sherlock, a man he’d only met once, before his girlfriend. Dimmock glances over at the sleeping man on the futon. “How’s Sherlock doing?” He asks.  
“Much better, he got some antibiotics, so he should be feeling better in a few days.” Lestrade tells him, as Dimmock begins to help Lestrade unpacking the crackers and Gatorade. “It’s okay, Dimm, I can take it from here. I don’t want you to have to keep your girl waiting.” He says, placing the insane amount of food purchased on the counter. Dimmock thanks him and tells him that he hopes Sherlock will be feeling better. Sherlock was still not awake after Lestrade had finished putting away all the crackers and drinks, so he decided it would be best to catch up on his lost sleep. Lestrade retires to his bedroom, still keeping the door open, watching Sherlock as he slept before falling asleep himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Lestrade wakes up the next morning, eight hours of sleep was certainly enough to make him feel fully refreshed. He’d slept in his suit and changes into more casual clothes, Lestrade wasn’t planning on going to work, until he spent some time monitoring Sherlock’s condition and making sure he ate and drank something. He hangs up his wrinkled suit in his closet and steps out into the living room, the lamp next to the futon had been turned and illuminated the case file that Sherlock was holding in front of his face. Lestrade looks quizzically at Sherlock, who had not yet noticed Lestrade’s presence.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” He asks, eyeing the young man.

“Oh, good morning DI Lestrade.” He greets, lowering the file from his face, which wasn’t as pale as it had been and the bags under Sherlock’s eyes were disappearing. “I’m solving your case.” He answers.

“Solving my case?” Lestrade asks, baffled.

“Yes, it was obviously the maid.” He informs Lestrade.

“Why do you think it’s the maid? She has no motive.” Lestrade says.

“She’s related to the man who was killed.” Sherlock states. “They have the same inherited jawline, so they are obviously brother and sister. She was planning on revealing her genetic relationship with him so she could the familial benefits. Her alibi cannot be confirmed, so I bet she’ll confess when you present to her my theory.” He says, placing the file back down onto the table. Lestrade stares at Sherlock is disbelief. “So, I suggest you change and head into work.” Sherlock tells Lestrade, who protests Sherlock’s suggestion.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea just yet,” Lestrade says, Sherlock looks at him with confusion, not sure why Lestrade wasn’t going to catch a killer. “I just want to make sure you don’t have a relapse. You also need to eat and drink something.” Lestrade tells Sherlock.

“Inspector, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, I can eat and drink on my own. I’m also feeling much better.” Sherlock reasons, Lestrade considers this and decides that Sherlock was right and they needed to catch the maid as soon as they could. After changing and making himself look ‘work appropriate,’ Lestrade was ready to catch a killer, but before making sure that Sherlock had Lestrade’s number for his personal phone and work phone, telling Sherlock to call if anything came up or if he needed anything.

It didn’t take long for Scotland Yard to find the maid, she was still with the family of the murder victim at their house, pretending to grieve with them. Lestrade walks into the large living room, the ceiling was high and a large, golden chandelier was hanging in the middle of the room. Each wall was painted white and were covered with photographs of their family, the maid was in most of them and Lestrade was wishing that Sherlock was wrong, he couldn’t imagine the pain it would bring to the family. The wife, Lori came to greet Inspector Lestrade, her short, blond hair was disheveled and her eyes were red and bloodshot from crying.

“Do you have any leads, Inspector Lestrade?” She asked, her voice soft and sad. Lestrade glanced past her for a moment to see the maid, Claudia with her arms around Lori’s two teenage sons, he looks at Lori regretfully and her eyes broke the eye contant that she and Lestrade shared. “Who?” She asked.

“Please come with me.” Lestrade coaxes, trying to get her out of the room while the police spoke to Claudia, he watches them move Claudia away from the two boys. Lori looks up at Lestrade with pleading eyes.

“Please, Inspector, tell me the truth.” She begs, Lestrade contemplates whether or not he should tell her, but Claudia had been taken into a different room.

“We have found that Claudia may have had a motive to kill your husband.” He informs her, Lori takes a step back and gasps.

“Cl-Claudia?” She gasps, completely taken aback. “I ca-can’t believe she would ever do something like that, she was a part of our family.” She whispers, making sure her sons aren’t able to hear her. “Why? Why would she kill Robert?” She asks, Lestrade places his hand between her shoulder blades and takes her into her kitchen, he pulls out a chair for her to take a seat, she thanks him as he takes a seat next to her, turning the chair at a slight angle so he was facing her. She kept her hands entwined tightly in her lap and took in a few nervous breaths.

“There is evidence that’s come up that supports the idea that Claudia is the sister of your husband.” He tells her, she stares at him in shock.

“His sister! He never mentioned any siblings at all!” She says, astonished.

“It is a possibility that he didn’t know about her, during our first meeting, didn’t you say that Claudia sought your family out specifically?” He inquires.

“Yes, that’s true.” She confirms. “I suppose she found Robert and wanted to get close to him, right?” She asks, Lestrade nods and Lori looks away again, disheartened by the amount of deception that Claudia had bestowed upon her family.

“She is most likely his half-sister, which is why they have very similar jaw lines, but don’t have many other genetic similarities.” He explains to her. Gregson appears in the doorway and Lestrade and Lori turn to face him.

“Claudia confessed to murder.” He announces, Lori looks disheartened, feeling played by her maid, who she thought had been her friend. Lestrade rises to and steps into the living room with Gregson. “She told us that she poisoned him in the neck with a syringe full of arsenic.” He elaborates. “Who gave you this tip?” Gregson asks.

“Remember the kid, Sherlock Holmes who’s staying with me?” Lestrade asks, Gregson nods. “Well, he reviewed the case while I slept and noticed how Robert and the maid had the exact same jawline.” He answers, Gregson looks impressed and smiles at Lestrade.

“Wow, he’s got to be some type of genius.” He comments. The policemen were getting ready to leave, Dimmock was leading out Claudia in handcuffs and casts a satisfied glance to Lestrade and Gregson. It wasn't long before Lestrade was back in at Scotland Yard, preparing to begin the paperwork regarding the case they had just wrapped up, however; before he could start, his phone began to ring. He pulls it out of the pocket in his jacket, which was laying out on the back of his chair, he grimaces slightly as the caller ID reads, Sherlock Holmes, he answers the phone quickly, hoping Sherlock wasn't in any trouble.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" Lestrade asks, for a moment, Sherlock doesn't answer.

"Wrong," he groans, "not better." Sherlock slurring slightly, followed by loud, throat - scraping coughing

"When did this start?" Lestrade asks, the rate of his breathing and heart increasing. He waits a few moments for a response, "Sherlock-" Lestrade starts, but is cut off by the sound of Sherlock fainting and colliding harshly with the floor.


End file.
